“Hey, you!” shouted Pete. “What are you monkeying with that line fence for?”
“Because I won't have time to fix it later,” responded Hiram, calmly.
“Fresh Ike, ain't yer?” demanded young Dickerson.
He was half a head taller than Hiram, and plainly felt himself safe in adopting bullying tactics.
“You put them posts back where you found 'em and string the wires again in a hurry—or I'll make yer.”
“This is Mrs. Atterson's fence,” said Hiram, quietly. “I have made inquiries about the line, and I know where it belongs.”
“No part of this water-hole belongs on your side of the fence, Dickerson, and as long as I represent Mrs. Atterson it's not going to be grabbed.”
“Say! the old man gave my father the right to a part of this hole long ago.”
“Show your legal paper to that effect,” promptly suggested Hiram. “Then we will let it stand until the lawyers decide the matter.”
Pete was silent for a minute; meanwhile Hiram continued to dig his hole, and finally set the first post into place.